


The Silver Sandals

by Rachel_Sophie95



Category: The Heroes of Olympus - Rick Riordan
Genre: Alternate Universe - Gang World, Alternate Universe - Historical, Ancient Rome, Angst, Blood and Violence, Drama, Drama & Romance, Explicit Sexual Content, Forbidden Love, Gangs, Gen, Historical References, Loss of Virginity, Period Typical Attitudes, Period-Typical Sexism, Political Alliances, Romance, Slavery, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-29
Updated: 2021-01-30
Packaged: 2021-03-10 02:27:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,179
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27766735
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rachel_Sophie95/pseuds/Rachel_Sophie95
Summary: Annabeth was born the illegitimate daughter of a Roman patrician and a Gaulish slave.  After the death of her stepmother and stepbrothers from a fever, Annabeth finds herself raised from a lowly slave to an eligible heiress, with the obligations such a position entails. A high-born Roman maiden must marry someone who her father chooses for the good of her family. What happens when she falls for the son of her father's sworn enemy?Life in the army has given Percy a taste of freedom and he was not looking forward to his return home to Rome, where his parents' expectations and his responsibilities as heir to one of the wealthiest families in the city wait for him. The future looks bleak and constraining until he meets a certain grey-eyed girl.
Relationships: Annabeth Chase & Piper McLean, Annabeth Chase/Percy Jackson, Calypso/Leo Valdez, Hazel Levesque/Frank Zhang, Jason Grace & Percy Jackson, Jason Grace & Piper McLean, Jason Grace/Reyna Avila Ramírez-Arellano, Luke Castellan/Annabeth Chase, Nico di Angelo & Will Solace, Percy Jackson & Sally Jackson
Comments: 3
Kudos: 32





	1. Chapter 1

Rome, 44 bc  
The assassin wore a mask of the god Pan.  
A slender form shrouded in a black cloak followed Jason as he left a feast at the home of a wealthy widow named Portia. It crept, cat-like, alongside him through the narrow streets, vaulted arches, and lush gardens of the Caelian Hill.  
Jason raised his oil lamp to get a better look at his companion.  
The lamp flickered over grotesque features rendered in stiffened linen. Many of the other revelers stumbling home after celebrating the Kalends of January, had donned garish disguises; worse for wear after the night's bacchanalia. Their masks were bright and comical while the stranger's made the hairs on the back of Jason's neck stand up: Pan's horns and beard on the pale, gaunt features of a dead man. Through the mask's mouth hole, the stranger blew out Jason's lamp and disappeared into the shadows.  
"My lamp's gone out, " Jason said to his patron, Julian Ramirez-Arellano when he caught up with the rest of his friends. "Someone's following us. He's going about in what looks like a shroud and has the face of death itself."  
Ramirez-Arellano laughed.  
"It's only a merrymaker. Many are sporting disguises tonight."  
Jason took a deep breath and smiled at the older man. Perhaps Ramirez-Arellano was right? He'd been out all night. The sun was rising again over the Caelian Hill, leaving pink streaks across the horizon- what Homer would call the "rosy-fingered Dawn." Night had fled to the narrowest alleys and pokiest corners but its shadows ran free. At this time of the morning, the world was a strange and fluid place: day and night, awake and asleep, reality and dreams all blurred into one another like honey in one's breakfast porridge.  
Once Jason had a few hours of sleep, things would make more sense.  
Portia, their hostess the previous evening, was Ramirez-Arellano's mistress. She possessed many fine qualities, the ability to throw a feast worthy of a consul among them. No expense had been spared to celebrate yet another year of Julius Caesar's consulship: Falernian wine, Lucrine oysters, the sweetest flutes and lyres, and the overwhelming perfume of countless roses.  
It may have just been the febrile state that Portia's party sent Jason into, but the Pan mask poked out again at him from a poky alleyway. Jason froze in his tracks.  
"There it is again," he said. "The death's head."  
Ramirez-Arellano clapped him on the back. "You've had too much to drink, my boy."  
That was most likely the case, or, some reveler got into their head to pull a prank on them? But just to be safe, Jason clutched the handle of the dagger he had tucked into where his synthesis tied around his waist.  
Ramirez-Arellano had attended the feast at the house of Portia with a train of young men who enjoyed his patronage, Jason among them. To a man, each had seen military service, at either Pharsalus or Alexandria. He must have felt that they were sufficient protection since he brushed off Portia's insistence that some of her guards accompany him home. The streets of Rome were not safe at this hour. If some cutpurse or footpad didn't get you, a falling roof tile might.  
Jason's companions were all drenched in Bacchus. Some beat arrhythmically against drums or blew into flutes, making a sound like a dying ostrich. The rest sang bawdy marching songs from their days in the army which echoed through the streets and alleys and caused Jason's head to ring like a bell. A few groggy citizens poked their heads out of their cubiculum windows and shouted "Shut up" or "keep it down, " or "some of us are trying to sleep." The young men brushed this all off with a "fuck you, " or an "eat shit."  
One of the Stoll brothers, either Connor or Travis, it was too early in the morning and Jason was too drunk to tell them apart, nudged him.  
Stoll raised his eyebrow and gave Jason a grin like a comedy mask.  
"And why are you so sour tonight, Grace?" he said.  
The other Stoll threw an arm around his brother's shoulder.  
"He's sour because a certain lady wasn't there."  
"A lady named Reyna!"  
Reyna was Ramirez-Arellano's daughter, as grand and imposing as her father. All of Rome hailed her as a beauty, in the cold, regal mold of the goddess Juno. The Stoll brothers lead the rest of the company in a raunchy song full of crude compliments about Reyna's face and body and speculations as to what kind of man could strike a fire in her flinty heart. Certainly not her husband, that sniveling little weasel, Octavian.  
"Reyna, o Reyna, please take off your tunic.  
Show us your lovely form.  
Your husband's eunuch,  
And your cunny needs a warm.."  
Jason once sought Reyna's hand in marriage, until her father gave it away to someone else. He told himself that she was better off where she was.  
"That's enough," Ramirez-Arellano shouted to the young men. He didn't sound pleased to hear such smut sung about his little girl. The Stoll brothers and the rest of their band of rascals laughed and moved on to a different song.  
One by one, the group dispersed as each man came upon his home. Jason's house was the closest to the Ramirez-Arellano villa, so he volunteered to see the senator safely to his front door.  
Ramirez-Arellano clapped Jason on the back. "Good night, my boy."  
"Farewell," Jason replied.  
Something rustled in the shadows. A figure shrouded in black rushed out of an alley and towards Ramirez-Arellano.  
"My Lord," the stranger said.  
Jason's heart stopped when he recognized the ghoulish Pan mask. He fumbled at his side for his weapon.  
Ramirez-Arellano turned around to see who had addressed him. The stranger raised a dagger and plunged it into his stomach. Ramirez-Arellano let out a piercing groan. Blood stained his toga. Scratching and roaring, he fought off the stranger like a dying lion in the arena.  
Jason pounced on the stranger and tried to pull him off his patron. The bastard would not get away with murdering a senator in cold blood.  
With what strength remained to him, Ramirez-Arellano managed to tackle the stranger against a wall. The stranger snarled and stabbed Ramirez-Arellano in the throat. A river of gore flowed down the senator's chest.  
Jason caught him as he fell to the ground with a thud. Ramirez-Arellano's body was limp and heavy in his arms.  
During the time it took Jason to catch him, the stranger disappeared back into the shadows. Jason looked back down at the stabbed man. Ramirez-Arellano's face was pale and vacant. His breathing came in shallow gasps. Both of their clothes were drenched in blood.  
Jason used his toga to wipe some of the blood off his face. "Hold on," he whispered as he helped the dying man to stand upright. "There's a house I can take you to."

The Jackson house stood a couple of streets over. Jason shot off like an arrow in that direction. The Jacksons were old friends of Jason's family. Their son, Percy, was Jason's oldest and closest friend. They had gone to school together and served alongside each other in the Sixth Legion. Jason knew he could go to the Jacksons in an emergency.  
His legs ached when he stood, panting, in front of the thick, oak front doors of the Jackson house.  
"Open up, please!" He shouted as he pounded his fist until the iron nails studded into the door had bruised his knuckles. "In the name of Jupiter, open up."  
His cries were answered by two slaves heading out on their morning errands.  
"Dominus ...?" One of them, a thin, red-haired Greek, said.  
Jason pointed to the Greek. "You, go wake your master. Tell him that a man's been stabbed, and Jason Grace needs his help." He then pointed to the other slave, a blond, muscular German, "And you, follow me."  
O Dis Pater, please don't take Ramirez-Arellano yet.  
Ramirez-Arellano lay, barely breathing, in a pool of blood when Jason and the German returned to him. They lifted the senator's bulk off of the cobblestones and carried him back to the Jackson home. The dying man's body grew heavier with each step they took. Jason couldn't wait to put him down on a soft bed, where he could pass away in comfort and dignity.  
The Greek held the front door of the Jackson home open for them. A drooling mastiff dozed in the vestibule on top of a floor mosaic depicting a friendly, barking hound. The doors swung open with a bang. Jason and the German bumped against the walls of the vestibule as they carried Ramirez-Arellano into the house. Ramirez-Arellano groaned in unbearable agony. All this noise woke the mastiff, who got up and growled at them.  
"Easy girl," Jason whispered to the dog. Her growling had nearly caused him to stumbled and let Ramirez-Arellano fall to the ground.  
"Get down, Mrs. O'Leary!" A deep voice boomed.  
Poseidon Jackson, the master of the house, and his wife, Sally, still in the tunics they wore to bed, entered the vestibule from the atrium.  
The mastiff ran to her master's side.  
Sally gasped at Ramirez-Arellano's bleeding body. "What happened to him, Jason?" She said.  
"I'll explain later, My Lady," Jason replied. "He doesn't have much time left."  
Poseidon's eyes widened as he took in Ramirez-Arellano senatorial toga and well-known features. He lowered his head and turned his eyes towards Jason. "Take him into the master bedroom."

The sheets on Poseidon and Sally's bed were in disarray after their sudden departure from it. Ramirez-Arellano's blood, gushing from his neck and stomach, stained the white linen crimson. Whenever he breathed or coughed, more spilled out.  
Jason took deep breaths to steady himself. It wouldn't do to faint or vomit up his dinner onto the Jacksons' fine marble floor.  
Poseidon had sent for his physician but in the meantime, some of Sally's maids tended to Ramirez-Arellano's wounds. Ramirez-Arellano bellowed and thrashed about like a fatally mauled lion in the arena as the maids undressed him to the waist and tried to stop the blood with wads of rough wool and strips of linen. Sally held a goblet of wine mixed with milk of the poppy to his lips. "The only thing we can do is make him comfortable," she said.  
Half the wine splashed down Ramirez-Arellano's chin, washing off the dried gore.  
"Reyna..." he groaned.  
Jason wiped the blood and wine off of Ramirez-Arellano's face with a towel. "Should I send for her?" He replied.  
"No..."  
Perhaps it would be more merciful to spare Reyna the sight of her powerful father brought so low? Reyna was one of the strongest women Jason knew but her heart couldn't handle it. She'd prefer to see her father laid out for burial with all the pomp and dignity he deserved and think of him as being at peace among the shades of their ancestors.  
"Tell...her..." the dying man croaked.  
Jason understood his meaning: tell Reyna what had happened. He took Ramirez-Arellano's hand and gave it a slight squeeze. "I will, my lord," he said.

Julian Ramirez-Arellano was dead an hour later. Jason kissed Ramirez-Arellano's forehead, a final goodbye to the great man's spirit as it left the body, before closing his eyes. He did his best not to shame himself by crying but a few rebellious tears rolled down his cheeks.  
Please, Jupiter, don't let anyone see me.  
When Poseidon's physician arrived, the red-haired Greek informed him that his services were no longer needed. The blond German was then dispatched to find an undertaker. Jason left the bedroom so the undertaker and his assistants could get to work on preparing the body for burial.  
Sally was in the atrium, arranging tuberoses in a vase.  
"I just cut these from the garden," she said. "I'm going to send them to the Lady Reyna with my condolences."  
"That's kind of you," Jason replied. "She'll appreciate the gesture."  
Reyna adored flowers and the rooms of her villa were heavy with the scents of roses, lilies, and jasmine. Her gardens were some of the most celebrated in Rome.  
"Poor girl..." Sally's voice quavered.  
Jason put a hand on her shoulder. "Knowing Reyna, she'll hunt down her father's killer like a she-wolf avenging her sire."  
He almost pitied the monster for the fate that awaited him.  
A pretty slave girl with ginger curls and a delicate-featured face entered the atrium with a large serving dish. She bowed her head slightly to Sally and placed the serving dish on a table near the pool in the center of the atrium.  
Sally gestured for Jason to sit with her on a bench near the table. "I thought you might be hungry," she said.  
Jason hadn't eaten in six hours at least. Everything that happened since then had distracted him from this fact. Now, his head spun and his stomach rumbled. The warm porridge and freshly baked bread in the serving dish released their seductive perfume and beckoned to him.  
"Thank you," Jason said  
Throwing good manners to the wind, he broke off a piece of bread and dug into the layers of porridge, goat cheese, and olives as ravenously as a wild animal.  
The slave-girl returned with a cup of wine for Sally, who sipped from it while staring in the direction of the master bedroom, where Ramirez-Arellano's body was being cleaned and anointed with oil.  
"Sweet Juno," she said. "How glad I am that Percy had nothing to do with this whole mess. Jason, did see or hear from him last night? With a murderer on the loose, I won't rest easy until he's home safe. If anything's happened to him, I swear I'll tear apart whoever's responsible for it with my own hands and teeth."  
Such sentiments were natural in a mother and to Sally's credit. A Roman matron's greatest treasures were her children and woe to anyone who tried to harm them.  
Jason rose from the benched and walked over to the pool in the center of the atrium. "Lady," he replied. "Percy left the banquet at the Ramirez-Arellano house before the rest of us." Jason washed the porridge and crumbs off his hands in the pool. "I assumed he went home."  
This was a bald-faced lie but Sally wouldn't want to hear where her son actually was.  
The morning sun shone in through the skylight above the pool and illuminated the busts and death masks of Jackson ancestors which lined the atrium's vermillion walls. Soon a bust or death mask of Ramirez-Arellano would adorn the walls of his daughter's home.  
Jason walked back to where Sally was seated, took her hand, and kissed it. "Don't worry. I have an idea where he is."


	2. Chapter Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We learn what Percy's been up to.

The cold water hit Percy like a slap to the face. His eyes flickered open, and he looked up to see Jason's legionnaire scowl hovering over him.   
"Get up, you dog," Jason growled.   
Percy groaned, stretched out his arms, and sat up in the narrow, stone bed. The thick straw-stuffed mattress shifted and rustled underneath him. "Furies take you," he swore.   
Percy dried himself off with a homespun blanket that covered him and the girl at his side. She was a nonaria he'd picked up in the arcades near the forum, who'd cost him two copper assarii.   
Jason held an earthenware wash jug, presumably where the cold water came from. Percy feared that Jason might smash it over his head.   
"Your mother's worried to death about you," Jason said.   
Jupiter's Cock! Percy was in for it when he got home. Even though Percy was a veteran of the Sixth Legion and wore a man's toga, Mater still tried to tie him to her skirts.   
He reached over to grab his tunic off the floor. His hand fumbled about in the smoky darkness to find it. The smoke came from a single oil lamp in the tiny cubical corner, which produced more soot than light. Only a few rays of sunshine could get through the narrow window. Percy grabbed the nonaria's toga by accident. He placed it next to the girl. "Here, My Honey," he said.   
A yawn contorted the nonaria's pretty face as she sat up and stretched. She was naked aside from a narrow crimson bandeau that covered her small, pointed breasts. Her eyes widened when she noticed Jason standing by the bedside and quickly grabbed the toga and wrapped herself with it.   
Even a whore has some dignity.   
Percy bent over and continued to grope around on the floor for his tunic. Jason glared down at him like a centurion at a particularly unprepossessing raw recruit.   
What was biting his ass? It wasn't as if he'd never seen Percy like this before.   
Percy slid his tunic over his head. "How was the banquet last night?" He said. "Did you give my regards to Ramirez-Arellano and Portia?"   
"I wasn't able to," Jason replied. He lowered his eyes and turned away. His grim expression told Percy that something wasn't right.   
Percy raised an eyebrow. "Did something happen?"  
"Ramirez-Arellano died a few hours ago," Jason's face was like carved marble with a fountain bubbling underneath. Though he tried to keep a stoical expression, a few tears welled up in his eyes.  
Poor Bastard; both Ramirez-Arellano and Jason.   
Ramirez-Arellano had been like a second father to Jason, and Jason practically worshiped the man.   
Percy grabbed a linen rag from off the bedside table and handed it to Jason.   
"No," Jason grumbled. He pushed the rag away.   
Damn his stubbornness!   
Percy tossed the rag to him. "Take it!"  
Jason dabbed his leaking eyes, took several deep breaths, and tried to regain his composure. Percy didn't blame Jason for being a mess after what he'd seen. He grabbed a jug of wine from the bedside table and poured his friend a drink. "Now, tell me what happened?"   
Between gulps of wine, Jason described how a masked thug had stabbed Ramirez-Arellano, then slit his throat. Jason brought the dying man back to the Jackson villa, where Ramirez-Arellano passed away. Mater's first thought after watching the thing was about Percy and his whereabouts.   
"She sent me to look for you." Jason's legionnaire scowl returned.   
Percy slapped his forehead. "Sweet Juno!" he swore, using an oath that Mater often used. He was a dreadful son for running off as he had done. A city where an honest man could be murdered in the streets was a place where a mother had every right to want to keep her son tied to her skirts.   
Percy took a silver denarius out of his purse and gave it to the nonaria. "This is for letting me stay the night."   
"Thank you," she said. Her eyes lit up, and she smiled a little. The denarius would buy her a decent meal or at least help her escape a beating from her pimp.   
Percy nodded to the girl before lifting the patchwork curtain that acted as a door so he and Jason could leave the room.   
The first floor of the brothel had a central courtyard whose walls were painted with erotica. These were idealized fucking scenes, utterly different from the sweaty, sticky reality practiced in the tiny bedroom that opened out onto the corridor. None of the usual moanings, grunting, and panting came out of these bedrooms. All was quiet because the brothel wouldn't open for business until the afternoon.   
Thank the gods for small favors. The last thing Percy's throbbing head needed was a lot of noise.   
Percy would have liked to freshen up at the baths before facing his parents. But only women could go to the baths this early in the morning. Men weren't let in until midday. So Percy's best option was to stretch his legs, get some fresh air to clear his head, and find some food to appease his growling stomach.  
Percy and Jason bought sausages and honey cakes for their breakfast from a street vendor in the forum. They sat down to eat on the steps of the Temple of Venus Genetrix. In recent years, this temple had become infamous for housing a golden statue of Julius Caesar's lover, the Egyptian Queen Cleopatra, who was currently staying in Rome at a lavish villa on Caesar's property. It was difficult to tell which scandalized polite Roman society: the Cleopatra in the temple or the Cleopatra housed near where her lover lived with his wife.   
Percy broke off a piece of honey cake and put it in his mouth. "So, when you're done acting as my nursemaid," he said, chewing with his mouth open. "What are you going to do with the rest of your day?"   
Jason frowned at him. "If I were your nursemaid, I would have taught you better than to chew like a cow."   
"That's not an answer to my question." Percy opened his mouth wider and chomped louder.   
"I'm going to call on Reyna to see how she's doing. As you would expect, she was devastated by her father's death. She started raving about how she's going to seek bloody revenge on her father's murderers and begged me to help her. I agreed, just to calm her down."   
"Di Immortales," Percy groaned. "That girl's got you by the balls."   
That was how Reyna worked. Very pretty, very bright, and very used to getting her way, Reyna wrapped every man who crossed her path around her little finger. First her father, then Jason, then her husband.   
Percy had to salute her. Perhaps that was the best way for a woman to go through life.   
Jason blushed. "I've known Reyna for years and I've always been fond of her..."   
" Fondness? That's not a good enough reason to put your neck on the line for a woman you'll never have." Percy rolled his eyes. "Just pick up a girl in the arcades who looks like her and get it out of your system."   
"Is that what you were doing back at the brothel with that flaxen-haired tart? Getting something out of your system?"   
"What...no..." Percy's heart pounded in his chest, and his cheeks blazed.   
"Ah-ha! I've touched a nerve, haven't I?" Jason nudged him. "Who is she?"   
"No one...I thought we were talking about you."   
"We were but now I'd like to hear something stupid to distract from my problems."   
Percy's story was pretty stupid. At least Jason obsessed over a woman he'd been close to for years, not one he'd only seen once and with whom he'd only exchanged a handful of words.   
"Alright..." Percy sighed. "It all began with my dog, Mrs. O'Leary..."   
Jason scowled. "That wretched beast nearly made poor Ramirez-Arellano her breakfast this morning."   
Percy laughed. He'd raised the old mastiff since Mrs. O'Leary was a puppy. Mrs. O'Leary might bark and snarl at strangers, something awful, but she wouldn't hurt a flea.   
"Well, Mrs. O'Leary got out a few days ago. I and a couple of our slaves searched all over the neighborhood for her. I found her at a drinking fountain a few streets over..."  
A girl had been with Mrs. O'Leary, giving the mastiff a drink of water from her cupped hands. Some of the water had dampened her dress so that it clung to the shapely curves of her body. She gazed up at Percy from behind a gauzy white veil and said, "Is this your dog?"   
"Y-yes..." Percy stammered.   
Her pale, wistful eyes, the color of smoke and ashes, took him aback. Her white veil and wisps of flaxen hair framed her vague gaze.   
Grey eyes and fair hair were uncommon in Rome, where most had a dark coloring, and gave the girl an otherworldly appearance.   
Percy stood still for a moment, afraid that if he so much as blinked, this ethereal vision might disappear. Perhaps she was a nymph who watched over the fountain?   
"You're welcome," were her final words to him.   
Percy stood there, frozen like a schoolboy who'd forgotten the lines of Euripides that the schoolmaster had called upon him to recite, as she walked away.   
"Thanks," Jason guffawed. "I need a good laugh."   
Percy folded his arms. "Ha, ha. You were right. This is stupid."   
"Any idea who this mysterious nymph might be?"   
"What does it matter?" Percy rolled his eyes. "I'll never see her again and it's out of my system now. Let's hurry up. My parents will be worried about me."   
As he finished his breakfast, Percy looked around the forum and tried to recall the last time he felt like all wasn't a complete disgrace. Yes...it was two years ago when he and the Sixth Legion returned to Rome.   
Julius Caesar received a welcome worthy of a god. His loyal legions were there behind him as he rode through the city in triumph, with a purple toga draped over his armor, a wreath of golden laurel leaves in his thinning salt and pepper hair, and his face painted red to resemble the god, Jupiter. However small and insignificant, Percy felt proud beyond measure to have played a role in the great man's victories. All this was partially his triumph as well.   
The forty days that followed Caesar's triumph held the most lavish public festivities Rome had ever seen: plays, chariot races, banquets for the entire city, and gladiatorial games where the four thousand captives the legions had brought back fought each other, and exotic animals, to the death.   
"Your son fought under Caesar," his parents would say to them at these events. "You must be so proud."   
And since then, he hadn't done much besides drink, gamble, and fuck his way around Rome. Indeed, my parents should be proud of me.  
The walk from the forum to the Caelian Hill took about half an hour. Stretching his legs and getting some fresh air helped clear Percy's head, and it gave him more time to compose himself before returning home to his parents.   
He'd hug Mater and assure her that he was alright. Then Pater would glare and grumble at him for worrying his mother half to death.   
"You wear a man's toga," Pater would say. "I'd think you could be trusted to act like a man."   
Jason's face grew paler when they got closer to the Jackson Villa.   
"These are the streets I walked through with Ramirez-Arellano," he said. "On our way back from Portia's house."   
Percy put a hand on Jason's shoulder. "Do you want to take a different way?"   
"No. I'm fine." He pushed away Percy's hand.   
Percy shrugged his shoulders and continued walking.   
Sweet Juno! Did Jason always have to be such a stoic?   
Jason stared straight in front of him, not wanting to catch the eye of anyone in the throngs of people around them. Slaves running errands, swearing, and groaning as they carried their heavy baskets. Schoolboys reciting lines from Plato and Aristotle on route to their lessons. Housewives stopping in shady arcades to gossip. The hustle and bustle of everyday life.   
They came upon the arcade that leads to the street where the Jacksons lived. Jason's face lost all its color. His chest rose and fell with shallow, rapid breaths.   
"I can't," he said. "I can't."   
Percy put an arm around Jason. "It's alright." He embraced his friend. "Go a different way. I can take it from here."   
Jason lowered his head and walked towards his home like a dog with its tail between its legs. Percy crossed his arms. What was bothering Jason more: Ramirez-Arellano's death or that it affected him the way it would a normal human being.   
Jason modeled himself on the past's unfailingly noble heroes like Hector and Aeneas: always doing the correct and honorable thing; consistently strong for everyone else. But no one was Hector or Aeneas. Even Hector and Aeneas probably weren't as great as history remembers them.   
Why couldn't Jason just be Jason, with all of his flaws and messy emotions?   
Percy took a deep breath and turn the corner into the arcade. It smelt like a butcher's shop in there with Ramirez-Arellano's congealed blood still staining the cobblestones. Someone had written "Brutus sleeps," a reference to the Roman republic's legendary founder, on the arcade wall using the blood.   
Percy scowled. Did the republican scrum who'd desecrated public property with this graffiti have any respect for the dead? Hopefully, a street cleaner would come soon and clean up this mess.  
Thank the Gods that Jason didn't have to see it. 

The first person to greet Percy when he returned home was Mrs. O'Leary. She'd been dozing in the mosaic floor in the vestibule but rose up like a giant wave of black fur when Percy walked through the door and splashed her master in the face with drool.   
Percy scratched the mastiff behind her ears. "Good morning, old girl," he said.   
"Master Percy, a gawky, red-haired Greek slave named Grover panted as he rushed into the vestibule. "You're home."   
"I am. Where's my parents?" Percy stroked Mrs. O'Leary, who thumped her tail against the floor.   
"They're in the atrium and they've got guests."   
Oh shit! Not only would he have to face his parents but their friends as well. "Who?"   
"Atlas Titan and the Lady Calypso."   
Atlas Titan was one of Pater's associates. It would be best if Percy snuck through the atrium without being noticed, to spare his parents the embarrassment of having their guests see their son stumble in looking like a satyr.   
Percy crept around Corinthian columns and beds of tuberoses while Lady Calypso helped Mater with her weaving and Titan ranted at Pater.   
"I've half a mind to murder that Odysseus," Titan said. "After all I've done for him, he goes and insults me like this."   
Calypso, a pretty girl with a long, pale face covered in freckles, blushed and lowered her large, brown eyes. Odysseus was...had been...Calypso's betrothed.   
Titan's paunch shook as he continued ranting. "Jilting my Calypso for Icarius's harlot of a daughter."   
Penelope, daughter of Icarius, a powerful general and senator, was one of Rome's most celebrated beauties and most sought after heiresses. She had dozens of illustrious suitors ensnared in her web; why would she choose an upstart jurist like Odysseus? Poor Calypso.   
Near the edge of the atrium, one of the floor tiles was loose. Percy's foot got caught on this loose tile, and he stumbled to the ground. Why did no one ever think to fix this blasted tile?   
Mater's yellow veil fluttered as she rose from her loom. "Perseus Jackson!"  
"Good morning, Mater." Percy stood up and rubbed his bruised knee. "How are you?"   
Her blue gown whipped at her legs as she ran over to him. She threw her arms around him and pulled him into a crushing embrace. "My love." She broke away and slapped his cheek. Percy winced. "Don't...you...ever... Do that...again."   
"I'm sorry, Mater."   
He would never forgive himself for running off and scaring her, especially after what she'd been through last night.   
"You should be." She gave him a glare, which said, "you're lucky we have guests or I'd really let you have it," then lead him to the center of the atrium where Calypso was weaving, and Pater and Titan were still discussing politics.   
Calypso rose from the loom. "Hello, Percy," she said. She fingered the crescent-shaped lunula pendant that hung around her neck from a string of emerald beads.  
Percy gave her a slight bow. "I hope you're doing well, Calypso."   
Calypso gave him a closed-mouth smile. She had a habit of keeping her mouth closed when she smiled or spoke because she was insecure about her somewhat prominent front teeth.   
These front teeth, combined with her freckles, caused Calypso's six older sisters to give her the nickname, the spotted mare. This was out of jealousy, of course. Calypso was the only one of Titan's daughters with any claim to beauty.   
"I heard about Odysseus," Percy continued. "I'm sorry."   
Calypso gave another one of her closed-mouth smiles and wrapped her olive-colored veil tighter around her shoulders. "I guess somethings aren't meant to be."   
Poor Calypso was lovely, but she couldn't compete with the dazzling Penelope, and as the youngest of seven sisters, her father wouldn't be able to provide as large a dowry. Life could be terribly unfair, sometimes.   
Mater put a hand on Percy's shoulder. "Percy," she said. "Why don't you take Calypso for a stroll around the garden?"  
Percy froze like one of the gorgon's victims. The betrothal with Odysseus had fallen through; were they now going to try to pass Calypso on to him? There were worse things than being married to Calypso. She was pretty and probably wouldn't give him much trouble. She'd mature into the ideal Roman matron: content to spin and weave in the atrium while her husband bedded the slaves and blew through her dowry at brothels and gambling dens. But was that the woman, and the life, Percy wanted? He didn't know.   
"sorry, Mater... Calypso," he said. "My head feels like it's made of lead. I'd like to freshen with a bath and rest for a while."   
Titan raised an eyebrow. "Rough night, son?"   
You have no idea, sir. 

With a clearer head after a bath and a brief nap, Percy took a walk around the neighborhood, which was even busier than it had been a few hours earlier. Liter bearers carried businessmen and politicians home for their midday meals. A cart driver's mule took a dump in the middle of the street. Two women filled their water jugs at a fountain.   
The two women at the fountain would have caught Percy's attention only for being beautiful, but they were also a study in contrasts. One was small and nymph-like with olive skin and dark hair. Her clothes (a simple tunic and shawl) were clean and tidy but a bit shabby. The other one was statuesque and fair with a pale complexion and flaxen tresses. She wore an elegant grey gown and a nearly sheer linen veil. Perhaps they were a slave and her mistress? But what was such a well-dressed lady doing fetching her own water when she had a slave to do it for her?   
The fair one in grey turned in Percy's direction. Her pale, smoky eyes, looking at him from under a diaphanous veil, belonged to the fountain nymph who'd aided Mrs. O'Leary. She gave Percy a nod of recognition and a little smile as if to say, "Oh, it's you."   
The dark-haired one tapped her mistress on the shoulder. "Annabeth," she said. "We best be getting home."


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We learn who Percy's fountain nymph is and that she is already taken.

Annabeth's mother came from a village in Gaul that had a spring sacred to her tribe's patron goddess Sequana. This spring was the source of a great river that bore the goddess's name. People came there from all over Gaul to leave offerings of coins, jewelry, and weapons. Even the great Julius Caesar paid his respects at Sequana's spring.

When Mater was alive, one of her duties was to fetch water from the nearby fountain, and she often brought Annabeth along to help her. During these errands, she taught Annabeth about her tribe's custom of leaving offerings and springs and fountains. Sometimes, Mater let Annabeth toss a coin into the fountain and make a wish. 

Annabeth wished for the typical things little girls asked for: to have pretty dresses and plenty of sweets to eat and not have to do chores. Little did she know that Fortuna would one day play a joke on her by giving her everything she ever wanted. 

Even now that Annabeth was no longer a slave and didn't have to go fetch water, she still made the trip every day with Silena, her friend since childhood and now her maid, to the neighborhood fountain as a way of honoring Mater's memory. It was as much a part of her daily routine as leaving cheesecake at the family shrine for the household gods and making burnt offerings of bread and milk to Brigandu in the kitchen hearth. 

Silena and Annabeth, each carrying a terracotta water jug on their head, returned to the Chase villa through the kitchen door. Annabeth caressed the metal arm torc she wore on her upper left arm after putting her pitcher down. Mater had bequeathed it to her as she lay dying.

" _ It belonged to my mother _ ," she had said. " _ And her mother before her. _ " 

The kitchen was hot, steamy, and filled with the smells of the afternoon meal cooking: roasting fish and frying eggs. These delicious aromas made Annabeth's stomach roar and her mouth water. 

"Demeter," she said to the plump, matronly cook who was carrying over a jug of garum with which to season the fish. "Can I have some bread to tide me over until lunch is ready?" 

Demeter shrugged. "Help yourself." She drizzled the strong-smelling garum into the pan, where several pieces of fish sizzled. 

Annabeth scampered over to the pantry and grabbed a small bread loaf leftover from breakfast. She broke it in two. One half she gave to Silena. A little piece of her own half, she crumbled into the fire cracking in the kitchen hearth. 

"O Brigandu," she murmured. "Patroness of the hearth and the loom, accept this nourishing bread." 

Silena broke off a dainty morsel of bread and put it in her mouth. "That young Apollo you nodded to at the water fountain," she said to Annabeth, chewing with her mouth open. "Was he the boy whose dog you found?" 

"He's too dark to be an Apollo, and yes." 

His close-cropped dark hair was the exact opposite of Apollo's tousled golden tresses. Apollo usually had a face that was as pretty as a maiden's, like some Greek fancy-boy, but the youth from the fountain's features were pure Roman. He was rugged and stern-looking but not unhandsome with a strong jaw, a hooked nose, a full, severe mouth, and brooding, green eyes. 

"...Apollo would've written a better poem." 

Silena's eyes widened. "He wrote a poem for you?" 

"He left these in a crack in the wall near the fountain." Annabeth produced a piece of broken pottery and a dried lily from a small bag hanging from her belt.

Silena couldn't read, so Annabeth read aloud the lines of verse inscribed on the potsherd: 

_ O nymph of the fountain,  _

_ sweeter and purer than its waters,  _

_ I make this offering as thanks for the kindness you showed a beloved companion:  _

_ A chaste lily and these humble verses.  _

_ Please continue to bless those who stop to drink from you,  _

_ And watch over lost dogs.  _

Annabeth put the dried lily and the potsherd back in her bag. "He's no Hesiod," she said. "But I can tell from the penmanship that he's well educated." 

With a pout, Annabeth admitted that his penmanship was better than her own. But Annabeth was lucky that she could read and write at all, having been born a slave. 

A series of shrill  _ yips  _ interrupted Demeter as she flipped the egg and asparagus mixture she was frying in a pan. "Get out of here, beast," she shouted. "I've got nothing for you." 

A small, fluffy white dog pawed at Demeter's skirts, trying to get a handout. 

"Here Melilla." Annabeth tempted the dog away with a piece of bread. Melilla scampered over to Annabeth's side, her nails scraping the wooden floorboards. She nibbled the bread out of Annabeth's hand. 

Demeter shook her head. "You spoil that beast, Annabeth." 

"Like how you spoil me?" She kissed the cook on her ample cheek. 

Annabeth was her master's daughter, so Demeter had to let her have her way. 

"Now get out," Demeter pointed to Annabeth and Silena. "Both of you little jades, and take the beast with you. And Silena, get some herbs from the garden for the columella salad."

Silena bowed her head to Demeter. The skirt of her unbleached wool dress swished, and the wide clay tag on her collar thumped against her chest as she pranced off into the garden.

Annabeth plopped another hunk of bread into her mouth. 

Demeter continued wagging her finger. "And you, young lady, don't fill up on bread. Lunch'll be served in a half-hour."

Annabeth had held her little brothers in her arms as they lay dying from the fever. She mopped Mathew and Bobby's burning foreheads with cold water and sang to them about Sequana's refreshing spring while their mother, Pater's wife Helen, also perished from the same illness in another room. 

" _ Annie _ ," Bobby had moaned. " _ Will we drink from Sequana's spring someday?"  _

_ "Of course, my love,"  _ Annabeth replied. 

The death masks of Mathew and Bobby and their mother, Helen, now sat among the family ancestors on the household shrine. 

Every afternoon, Annabeth left cheesecake as an offering to their spirits. 

Annabeth's eyes strained in the blinding sunlight as she stepped out of the  _ Lararium,  _ the room which housed the family shrine, and into the courtyard garden in the center of the villa. The day was fine, so she'd asked for her loom to be set up in the shade of the olive tree. 

A half-finished tapestry, meant to depict the suicide of Lucretia, hung on the loom. Annabeth's fingers wove the words "Nec impudica Lucretiae exemplo vivet" (no unchaste woman shall live by Lucretia's example) at the feet of the republican heroine. She brought down the corrupt Roman monarchy. This tapestry reflected Annabeth's family's republic sympathies and her own skills as a weaver.

" Julian Ramirez-Arellano and I were hardly the best of friends, my boy," said Annabeth's father, Frederick Chase. He was standing on the veranda and adjusting his toga, which had fallen from his shoulders. Luke Castellan, a young neighbor of theirs, leaned against a Corinthian column next to him. "But it's a terrible scandal when such crimes happen in decent neighborhoods. No one's safe anymore."

Luke raised a blond eyebrow. "You can't say Ramirez-Arellano's death was much of a loss. If I came across whoever did the deed, I'd give him a purse of gold." 

Annabeth suppressed a gasp at Luke's cruel remark, but he had his reasons for making it. The Castellan and Ramirez-Arellano families had bad blood going back generations. Ramirez Arellano supported Julius Caesar during the recent wars while the Castellans (like the Chases) were staunch Pompeians. Luke's father, Hermes, had lost an election for a magisterial position to Ramirez-Arellano. Hermes had the right to collect taxes in some obscure but lucrative province that Ramirez-Arellano coveted. 

No one in Luke's family would shed too many tears over their late rival. 

Pater clapped Luke on the back. "I'm not going to argue with you there, my boy," he said. He looked up in Annabeth's direction. "But you're probably bored with listening to an old man like me, here's some more pleasant company for you." 

"Hello, Annabeth." Luke dipped her a bow. 

Annabeth lowered her eyes, as was modest and proper. "Good afternoon, Luke," she said. 

If Annabeth had known visitors were coming today, she would have put on something more refined than the simple grey linen dress she wore. At least, she'd remembered to put up her braid. Annabeth usually wore her hair plaited in the Gaulish style, with the braid falling down her back, signifying that she was unmarried when at home. Roman ladies were expected to wear their up in public. Annabeth pinned up her braid in a knot at the nape of her neck or in a wreath around her head when company called. Annabeth noted, with a smile, that these styles were particularly becoming on her.

Pater turned around and returned into the shade of the house. Annabeth and Luke had known each other since they were children, so Pater didn't mind leaving them alone together. Luke was a young man of impeccable breeding and an unblemished reputation. No hint of a scandal, such as gambling debts or pregnant slave girls, surrounded him. If Luke had any vices, he was discreet about them. A father could trust him with his daughter's virtue. 

Luke strode into the garden, the gravel path crunching under his feet. He circled around Annabeth's loom. His hand gently stroked and admired her weaving. "This is exquisite work," he said. 

Annabeth's cheeks felt warm. "Thank you," she replied. 

Among the manicured poplar trees and myrtle bushes, Luke stood like a statue of a young god. If Silena had thought the youth from the fountain an Apollo, that epithet better suited Luke, with his wavy, golden tresses and straight, flawless features. Annabeth had always found Luke to be one of the most handsome men she'd ever seen. 

Luke stood next to Annabeth to get a better look at the tapestry. "The suicide of Lucretia?" 

"Yes." Annabeth put down the skein of the red thread she was using for the doomed heroine's blood. Her back was sore from working at her loom for the past hour. "I'm tired of standing. Would you care to sit with me by the fish pond?"

Luke smiled and bowed his head. "I'd be honored."

The fish pond sat in the courtyard center, with red gladioli flowers growing around its perimeter. At its western end stood a spacious marble bench. 

Annabeth took her seat on the bench and spread out her skirts. Luke sat down next to her.

"Remember when we were children," he said. "And we would steal some of the cheesecake meant for the shrine and feed it to the fish?"

Annabeth laughed. "Yes. And then we'd kick off our shoes and stick our feet in the pond." She reached down and dipped her hand into the cool water. The mosaic depicting Medusa's head was visible at the bottom of the clear, still pool.

A striped goatfish swam over and nibbled at the tips of Annabeth's fingers. It tickled and made her giggle.

"A lot's changed since then," Luke said. He also dipped his fingers into the fish pond. 

"A lot's changed since then," Luke said. He also dipped his fingers into the fish pond.

"Yes, it has." Annabeth splashed him. "And a lot's stayed the same."

A lot had changed. Annabeth was no longer the scrawny, coarse urchin she used to be. She had grown tall and womanly and liked to think that she'd gained some refinement as well over the years.

Luke's fingers cut through the water and intertwined with Annabeth's. "You've become a fine lady."

"Thank you." Annabeth's cheeks were warm.

He leaned in closer, brushed some hair from her face, and touched his lips to hers.

Now Annabeth's cheeks blazed. She pulled away from him. The idea of kissing Luke was close to that of kissing the god, Apollo.

Luke lowered his eyes. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be, it's just that I had no idea you felt that way about me."

Where did this come from? All the years they had known each other, Luke never gave any sign that he thought of her as anything more than a little sister.

"I've long held a fondness for you, Annabeth." Luke rose from the bench and smoothed his tunic and toga.

Annabeth dried her hands on her skirt and folded them in her lap. "Does this fondness have anything to with me now being my father's heiress?"

_ I'll marry Annabeth off to some decent young man and leave everything to him; Pater _ said someone suggested taking a second wife and sire more sons.

Luke paced in front of Annabeth. "I tried to ignore what I felt for you and didn't plan on acting on these feelings because..."

"Because I wasn't worthy of your affections when I was a bastard." Annabeth raised an eyebrow.

"No, because I wanted you to love me as a wife." He took her hand. "Not yield to me as a slave."

Annabeth took a deep breath. Her heartbeat against her ribs like the wings of a caged bird. Luke was handsome, honorable, and rich. Any girl would think herself blessed to be proposed to by him, and Annabeth knew she would grow to love him as a wife should. "Speak to my father," she replied.

Luke's eyes lit up. Her answer pleased him. A dutiful daughter meant a loyal wife. "I will, right now." He kissed her hand before letting go of it.

Like a giddy young boy, Luke left her and went inside to go find Pater. No doubt Pater would consent to their marriage. Luke was precisely the type of man he wanted for his son-in-law and heir. His fortune and his daughter would be safe in Luke's hands.

What Annabeth felt at the prospect of marrying Luke wasn't joy but rather a relief, relief that her future and position in society would be settled and secure. Instead of a lowly slave with no prospects, she'd be the mistress of a household. She'd go through life with a man who had respect and affection for her.

Wherever Mater was, she'd be thrilled and delighted by this change in her little girl's fate.


End file.
